Choke
by Hattiakourri
Summary: Vegeta's going through a rough spot, and Bulma's there to help.


Sue me. I wanted to write something drenched in despair. (OMG, that sounded so…_emo_)

Nah, don't worry. It's not that dark, so don't worry.

Sometimes you have to fight your way through the darkness to get to the light.

A little something at the very end, to put things in perspective for me.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

~*~ Hattiakourri ~*~

Choke

Failure, he supposed, was a heavy mantle to wear.

But if there was anything that he had been successful at since he left Freiza's armed forces, it was harvesting his abundance of failure. Big, heaping, cloyingly sweet mounds of it, with wilting heads and tainted leaves… He had Failure on display in every corner, on every wall, in front of every mirror he could see.

Its putrid oil stained his skin, mottled it like a disease. It wafted from him like a rotten perfume, the odor choking the air wherever he went… Failure was his constant companion-- It was unforgettable… it would never leave his mind.

Failure.

He _was_ failure, its very essence. He was living, breathing _failure._

His golden fleece, the golden mantle of the Super Saiyan would forever be beyond his reach.

_He just couldn't believe that he had blinded himself to that fact for so long… _

His recent black mood had been spawned by an event that would seem unassuming by most of his standards- he had failed to dodge a reflected ki blast during a defense drill. The sting of the burning ki was intense, but mercifully brief—but the wound to his psyche was far more severe.

Failure. It was a stain like blood.

_He was too feeble to dodge a blast that he, himself, created—a blast he had seen coming from miles away, but had failed to evade. He was too slow, too weak, too inadaptable to ever change._

Those were the manic feelings that surged through his blood, eliciting emotions within him that were powerful, yet fleeting. Occasionally, he felt the urge to sob in despair, or scream in desperation, but by the time it manifested, the urge was gone, leaving other emotions in its place…

_I'm hungry_

_**Too bad, we don't feed Failure.**_

_I'm exhausted_

_**Too bad, Failure doesn't need sleep.**_

_I'm sick_

…_**That's a good thing, Failure. **_

The sting of failure overpowered all of his senses. All he could feel, all he could breathe was despair, a curious, cold sensation that buried itself in his bones and sucked the very life out of his flesh.

He would achieve the Legendary. He had to.

…

There was no other purpose.

When he opened his eyes—though he couldn't remember ever closing them—he realized that something was amiss. Firstly, it was dark outside (It had been light out when he was training) so he knew a significant amount of time had elapsed. Secondly, he knew he was vulnerable—and he wasn't alone.

_What had happened?_

Very suddenly, he registered the presence of the other person very close to his face, their hot breath gusting on his ear, as if they were drawing close to tell a secret.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mister Wizard-- You've nearly killed yourself. Again," the voice quipped somewhat snarkily.

That voice. He knew the lilt of that feminine tone as well as he knew the back of his hand…

Bulma.

Oh, God. He had to put up with_ that_ right now?

Coming around in his view, she pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, intent on having a serious conversation with him. She had some very serious concerns for his recent behavior, and one way or another, she was going to get answers.

"What the hell has been the matter with you lately? You've been all mopey for the past week…" she drawled, turning one of her curls between her fingers, her expression twisted into an expression of disconcerting disinterest--an expression she knew would put off his suspicions. "Seriously…you've been grumpier than usual –which is saying a lot--this past week, and you haven't eaten a bite or slept a wink. What are you trying to do to yourself? What's eating you?"

She said that as if she were talking to him about the weather. _Vegeta, are you trying to kill yourself? Weren't the rainshowers pleasant on Tuesday?_

No, he wasn't trying to kill himself.

He just didn't feel like putting effort into a worthless cause.

"Woman—"he growled, the bass rumble laced with colorful overtones of frustration and irritation. Beneath the skin-deep snarl, however, the dark derision that had pervaded his thoughts still boiled malignantly within his dying heart._ Oh, who am I kidding? I can't do shit and everybody knows it._

"Shut it, Vegeta. You're obviously not being rational right now—"

"How would you know me well enough to make that assumption?" he grumbled wearily, avoiding her prying eyes as best as he could. "I do not commiserate with you or any of your kind—and I resent the familiarity you claim to have with me."

_I'm only trying to __**help**__ you, Vegeta… _

_So __**why**__ are you making this__** so **__fucking hard?_

"Vegeta," she sighed, feeling her heart tremble in her chest. If he were able, she was sure he would storm away to lick his wounds in private. If it would help, she would gladly step aside.

But it would only make an already grievous problem worse. The wound in his heart would only fester and grow out of control…

"Tell me what I can do to help you. That's all I'm--"

"Woman, I'm warning you—Just. Let. It—"

"I'm only offering because you can't be bothered to help YOURSELF!" She screeched, flinging a tray of medical instruments across the room in frustration. "I know you think I'm stupid and brainless. I don't give a shit, because it's not true, and you know it. But I…"

She had paused to calm down, to gather her thoughts. He saw her embarrassment stain her cheeks with a blotchy blush.

_She seemed mortified,_ he mused distractedly.

_Why?_

"Vegeta," she began with a quiver, her voice now much calmer and lower. "I know we're not friends. I'm not trying to force that on you, believe me. But… it concerns me that you've been showing so little concern for yourself that you would disregard your own life. I don't want… whatever the hell it is you're going through…to come to that."

Seeming ashamed of what she was going to say next, she looked to the floor, examining the grain of the floorboards while her mind lingered in a sorrowful memory from her own past. "I can't imagine anything worse than to die and leave nobody behind to remember you… and I know that if you let this conquer you, that's exactly what's going to happen."

He stared at her, dumbfounded at the words and the emotions he had just heard spill out of her mouth.

_Is that what she thinks when she looks at me?_

His mind scrambled at a frenzied pace, but he found that he couldn't decipher whatever mechanism compelled her to have this sense of responsibility for his well being. _Surprise, surprise_, a part of himself jeered._ Another failure to add to your list._

Was it pity? Maybe, but instead of feeling infuriated, he felt like he had been petty. He had let his emotions run away with him—his apathy nearly spelled his own doom.

"What I'm trying to say is that I don't want to see something like that happen to you, 'Geta. Not over something like this."

"Wait… How do you—"

"Vegeta, _everyone_ has felt like that before. I feel that way _all the time_. Failure isn't easy to cope with… but if you never deal with it, you'll never be able to move_ past_ it," she mumbled, self-consciously picking at the sleeves of her coat. "It'll just fester and swallow you up. You'll choke on it."

His curious gaze sought her elusive eyes—poring through the shadows, trying to read the darkness in her soul. Surprisingly, more of it was there that he would have ever suspected.

She knew what he was questing for. "No. I haven't felt it in _that _way myself. But I knew someone who had. Nobody wanted to talk to them about it, and there was no happy ending."

Vegeta found that he couldn't be angry at her for that small kindness.

He even felt a little flattered that she _seemed_ to _care_.

His eyes seemed a scant shade lighter; the shadows swirling in his dark eyes did not seem as haunting. Instead, they seemed to form a question she could easily recognize.

"Ah. You want to know why, right?" She coyly smiled, her spirit seeming to lift a little. "I'd hate to see it swallow you up like that. Besides," she grinned, looking toward the window outside, where the dawn was growing ever brighter. "I kind of like having you around, Saiyan."

…

…_Did she now?_

Something a little brighter had touched his eyes, and he laughed when she walked around the bed to open the curtains. Beyond the bay windows, beyond the sprawling cityscape, he could see the dawn, the growing light silhouetted against the horizon, fighting to be free. "Is this the touching moment where you say '_The night is darkest just before the dawn?_'" he jeered playfully, his eyes still fixed on the proverbial phoenix that was rising from the ashes.

_The scant light of dawn seemed more symbolic when it reflected off of her eyes._

"I would if you were anybody else, but that's a little too cliché. Just know that I'm looking out for you," she smiled as she made her way out of the room, the rays of the growing sun spurring a new spring in her step. "I'm your guardian angel, whether you like it or not."

_No, I don't like it, _he mulled, as she left the room, left his presence._ But do I have the will to fight it?_

_Not really._

_What harm could it do?_

The bewildered Saiyan snorted as he laid back in bed, a week's worth of missed sleep and emotional exhaustion tugging him into slumber. He muttered a single word as he drifted off to a peaceful sleep, a single word dancing on his lips.

"_tch_…_**Women**_**…**"

_Maybe… there was hope for him after all._

*fin*

I wanted to write a semi-platonic fic that occurs before they get together, because I feel that that is a natural progression. Besides, I think that there's a little more there than meets the eye. ; ) I can feel a little something there already.

I dedicate this fic to my cousin, who ended his own life earlier this year. I wrote this to come to terms with the way he must have felt, and with my own sporadic emotional distresses. It's a form of catharsis, I believe, and it's a way for me to shut the book on this subject and get back to living life. I would appreciate if reviewers refrain from offering me condolences, as I feel that the only person who needed them is no longer around to hear them. I only wish for reviewers to respect my wishes and review the fiction for what it is.

The thanks that you can give me are to reach out to the troubled people you may have in your life, and try to be of comfort. It might help them more than you'll ever know.

See you guys around.

~*~Hats~*~


End file.
